


a heart's a heavy burden

by beachytablecloth



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Comics? What Comics?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Post-100 Year War (Avatar TV), The Search Comics (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko's Childhood (Avatar), because zuko doesn't know how to ask for help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25845049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beachytablecloth/pseuds/beachytablecloth
Summary: Zuko spent three years yearning for these halls. Maybe he had forgotten how oppressive they had felt. He’d realized, eventually, that he had been willing to forget a lot about life at the palace when he was banished. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been playing memories of his mother when he allowed himself to miss home. He hadn’t realized that he’d been missing a home that no longer existed.A year after the end of the 100 Year War, Zuko is still struggling to cope with his past. The stress of being Fire Lord weighs heavily on him until he reaches a breaking point and realizes that he can't heal the world while his own wounds are still bleeding.(or, my take on the Search, because I really do not care for the comics.)
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar), Ursa & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 274
Collections: AtLA <10k fics to read





	1. my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake

Azula had stopped thrashing and screaming, and was now instead lying in a crumpled heap, hands chained behind her back, her breathing hitched and ragged. _I should hate her_ , Zuko thought as he and Katara stood before her. _I should feel good that I beat her,_ but instead, he just felt a bit sick.

Maybe it had something to do with the lightning.

And it probably, definitely had something to do with the fact that Aang and the others still weren’t back. And his uncle was in Ba Sing Se battling hundreds of Fire Nation troops.

He and Katara sat waiting on the half-crumbled steps of the palace, Katara occasionally bringing more water to his aching wound. Though his body cried out for rest, and Katara had insisted, Zuko refused to go lie down—he needed to see everyone safe and sound with his own eyes.

At some point, the Fire Sages had emerged from their hiding places once they’d deemed it safe enough, and Zuko had instructed them to have (several) guards collect his broken sister and secure her, at least for now, in a heavily guarded prison cell.

It was eerily quiet.

After what seemed like hours, when finally Zuko had been close to relenting and allowing Katara to help him inside, they saw a group clamoring up the hill that led up from the shores, through the town center to the palace entrance.

“Is that—Sokka!? Aang!!” Katara screamed and turned to help Zuko up. Together, they hobbled as quickly as they could towards their friends. Aang and Suki were helping a limping, but smiling Sokka, and trailing behind them was—

His father.

Alive.

Alive, with hands bound by stone, feet encased in the earth, being slowly pushed forward by Toph.

Zuko briefly made eye contact with him, feeling the color drain from his face, before he was swiftly gathered up into a group hug, limbs everywhere, everyone panting and teary-eyed from sheer relief.

It was several moments before they broke apart again. They all surveyed each other, eyes scanning for injuries and wounds.

“Aang… the Fire Lord?” Katara asked, glancing over at where he was being held by the stone shackles Toph had created.

“I took his bending away,” replied Aang, with a surprising amount of nonchalance.

“You…how?” Zuko said, seeing his shock echoed in Katara’s face next to his.

“A lionturtle taught me.”

“A… lionturtle,” Zuko repeated, finding that his ability to process this information at this point was practically non-existent. In fact, it was getting harder and harder for Zuko to focus, as the relief of seeing his friends alive mixed with the gravity of all that just happened (and with the pain of the lightning strike still circulating through his entire body).

He called for more guards to come over to take his father down to the prison.

“Toph, would you mind helping them?” he asked. Though he knew his father no longer could use fire to harm anyone, he still didn’t like the idea of him being out of his stone bonds until he was locked behind an iron gate.

“My pleasure,” replied Toph, cracking her knuckles.

“Not going to escort me yourself, Prince Zuko?” Ozai snarled.

Zuko looked him over—his disheveled hair, his bound hands and feet, and finally his crazed, cold eyes. Nothing like the towering, dark figure he’d been, and yet Zuko still found that he couldn’t look at him for very long.

“You can take him now,” he said, an edge to his voice.

“And where is my daughter?” Ozai taunted, trying once more to get a rise out of Zuko.

“You’ll see her soon enough.”

And they took him away.

It wasn’t until the group had retreated into the palace that Zuko let himself, finally, collapse.

* * *

_He was too cold, but also too hot. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position but it was impossible, the cot and scratchy blanket doing nothing to appease his body, which ached all over. And the rocking—he’d never get used to the constant rocking._

_And then the pain—he wasn’t sure he’d get used to that either. A near constant searing sensation radiating from his face, coupled with an insatiable itchiness and an urge to scratch away the new skin that was attempting to grow over the mottled, infected wound._

_Somewhere in the room, a familiar voice was speaking…Uncle, he realized, moments later. Vaguely he remembered that Uncle had been there every time he’d opened his eyes over the past day… or days? Or was it weeks at this point?_

_A cool, wet cloth was brought to the side of his forehead that was unbandaged, and Uncle was saying something again, but everything was too fuzzy and Zuko couldn’t seem to understand and the pain was too much, the whole of his face was burning, but now…his chest? His chest, too, was burning, which confused him and suddenly, that was all he could feel, all he could focus on was the apparent hole that had been burned into his chest, and Uncle was speaking again, this time more urgently, but Zuko still couldn’t make it out. He tried to focus on Uncle’s words, on his face, but everything was growing blurry, and the sound more and more muffled and he thinks he might be calling his name but he’s right here and he can’t answer--_

“Zuko? Zuko!”

He was being gently shaken awake.

“…K-Katara?” he rasped, his throat dry and sore.

He blinked his eyes open, and looked around. He was not on the ship, but in the palace. And it was not Uncle, but Katara who was sitting next to him, her forehead knitted in concern. She raised her hand and gently cupped his cheek.

“You still feel too warm… You were talking in your sleep, again.”

“I—again?” And despite his fragile state, Zuko felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. “Sorry,” he said, sheepishly.

“Zuko, you have nothing to apologize for,” she replied, with a sadness that Zuko can’t seem to place. “How are you feeling?”

He ached all over, and when he tried to sit up, it was the concentrated, sharp pain in the center of his chest that made him let out a soft moan. She gently pushed him back towards the bed.

“I’m… okay,” he huffed, trying once again to sit himself up.

“Say that again without wincing and I’ll believe you.”

“Okay, fine. I’m pretty sore.”

“You’re due for another healing session, actually.”

“Another? How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been in and out for a few days… This is the most lucid you’ve seemed in a while.”

“I—a few _days_? I’ve got to—there’s so much—” He scrambled, trying to get out of bed.

“Zuko, relax, please! You were really hurt! You need to rest!” 

Zuko was ready to continue protesting until he looked up and saw that Katara’s eyes were now filling with tears. He laid back against the pillows as Katara turned away, dabbing at her eyes.

“You were so hurt, Zuko, it was like Aang all over again, and I didn’t have any spirit water, and it would’ve been my—”

“Azula’s. It would have been Azula’s fault.” He said, firmly.

Katara sniffed. “I know, you’re right… I just couldn’t help but think that way… and you’re doing a lot better now, but we were all really scared there for a minute.”

“I’m sorry. How is everyone else?” And then, with a start, as he realized—“My uncle! Is he—did he--?”

“He’s okay,” she said with a thick voice, turning back to face him with red-rimmed eyes. “He sent a letter from Ba Sing Se. The White Lotus were able to take back the city in the name of the Earth Kingdom, and he’s on his way back here now.”

Overwhelming relief washed over Zuko, and for a moment he couldn’t speak; he couldn’t bring himself to even consider what he would’ve done if Uncle hadn’t returned. He did his best to blink away the tears that were stubbornly welling in the corners of his eyes.

Katara looked at him with kind eyes. He tried not to wonder what she had heard while he was sleeping.

“Sokka and Suki are with my dad, and Aang and Toph decided to explore the palace a little. After I heal you I can go get them—they’d want to see you.”

“I’d like that.”

* * *

The next time Zuko woke, he was not alone. It had to be the middle of the night; the only light in the room was the dull moonlight streaming in from the window. He could tell from the quiet snores coming from somewhere to his right that Uncle had returned safely from Ba Sing Se. He smiled, and slipped back into sleep.

* * *

The next week passed in a hazy blur for Zuko. Katara had been right—he _was_ really hurt, and he found himself (begrudgingly) needing a lot of rest in bed. His friends spent the days with him, and Uncle would visit every night, with tea and news in tow. His uncle would try to keep it light, but Zuko needed to know every going-on; he was desperate to get to work fixing things. His fever had broken after two days, and with the added lucidity also came added anxiety. It was frustrating, being stuck in bed when he knew there were vital tasks awaiting him—he had to assist in pulling out troops from all over the Earth Kingdom, there were political prisoners to be released, reparations to pay, apologies to made—but he could barely sit up for more than an hour at a time because of the chest full of lightning he was carrying. His uncle was working essentially as a proxy for him, but it did little to assuage the constant pressure that had lodged itself neatly next to the lightning in his chest.

* * *

It was the morning of the coronation, and Iroh feared that the soon-to-be Fire Lord was going to be sick. He had arrived at his nephew’s room this morning to find him in a frenzied, near feverish panic.

(He was staying in one of the guest chambers; the staff found it strange, but Zuko could not bring himself to stay in his family’s old quarters. Iroh understood.)

Zuko was wearing his red ceremonial robes, but there were deep circles under his eyes and his hair was a shaggy mess. His hands shook as he washed his face, and he couldn’t seem to sit for more than two minutes without having to get up and pace around the room. The lightning wound was still healing, but Iroh sensed that was likely not the cause of his nephew’s current state.

After brewing a pot of jasmine tea and forcing a cup into his nephew’s tremoring hands, Iroh ushered Zuko into a chair and carefully began pulling his hair up into the traditional top knot. He talked—about nothing, really, his favorite tea blends, his plans for his new shop, his latest Pai Sho strategy—anything to keep Zuko distracted and as much at ease as possible. He knew his nephew, and he knew the anxiety that was plaguing him was about more than just the coronation itself.

Iroh gingerly secured Roku’s crown atop Zuko’s head, pulled him up from the chair, and grasped his shoulders.

“Zuko.” Iroh said, eyes prickling with tears as his heart swelled with pride.

“Uncle.” Zuko returned with a shaky, heavy breath.

Iroh brought his hand up to cup the non-scarred side of Zuko’s face, and smiled to himself when Zuko didn’t flinch, but instead leaned into the touch. It wasn’t that long ago that his poor nephew recoiled whenever Iroh would reach out or when his face passed too close to a candle. 

“Zuko,” he repeated, “You have come so far. I am more proud of you than you could ever imagine.”

Zuko blushed slightly—the boy never could take a compliment—and pulled Iroh into a hug.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Uncle,” he whispered into his shoulder. Iroh pulled back to look him in the eyes.

“Nephew, there is no man better for this job than you. You have struggled, you have learned, and most importantly, you care deeply for your nation and for the world. I have no doubt that you will rule with honor and compassion.”

And when he pulled him back into a hug and Zuko choked out a “thank you, Uncle,” Iroh wondered if one’s heart could burst from love.

* * *

For a stuffy Fire Nation ceremony, the coronation hadn’t been so bad, Sokka thought. Not that he had any other coronations to compare it to. He’d watched with pride as his two friends stood together on stage. The last airbender and the Fire Lord—a sight he never could’ve predicted even a few months ago.

The fancy afterparty, however, had quickly grown tedious, and after trying as many new “ _hors d’oeuvres”_ as he could, he’d snagged Suki and convinced her to leave the party with him.

They’d wandered the palace grounds until they stumbled into a courtyard that held a large tree, a fountain, and a small pond. Soon enough they were joined by Toph, grumbling something about how dare they leave her to “deal with those prissy high society folk!” Not long after her followed Katara, and then eventually Aang and Zuko, who both looked weary from spending hours conversing with nobility.

They sat around for what felt like hours—no one ready to go to bed for the night. Aang told stories about his old Fire Nation friend, Kuzon, and his new friends he’d met during his brief stint at the Fire Nation Academy. Zuko even, shockingly, offered up a rare personal story about feeding turtleducks with his mother.

Now, Sokka wasn’t one to get all emotional and sappy, but if he were, he would’ve said how grateful he was to be a part of this odd little family sitting around a pond.

* * *

The day Zuko had been dreading ever since he’d woken up weeks ago with a hole in his chest had arrived: his friends were leaving.

He knew they _had_ to leave eventually; he had prepared himself for it, but that did nothing to ease the pit he felt in his stomach as he watched the group pack their things onto Appa.

Aang was going with Katara, Sokka, and Chief Hakoda to the South Pole, and they were taking Suki and Toph back to the Earth Kingdom on their way. Suki was heading back to Kyoshi Island to regroup and train with the Kyoshi warriors, and Toph (reluctantly) was returning home to try and work things out with her parents.

He bowed to Chief Hakoda, who in turn grasped his forearm and clapped him heartily on the back. Aang practically leapt onto him, Katara wrapped him in a gentle but tight hug, Suki dotted a swift kiss to his cheek, and Toph punched him lovingly in the arm.

It was Sokka, who lingered after the rest.

“I guess I never really got to thank you, you know, for saving my sister’s life.”

“Sokka, you don’t have to—” Zuko was cut off by Sokka’s bone crushing hug.

“Shut up, man. Just—thank you, okay?”

“Okay.”

Zuko stared at the sky for what felt like forever after Appa had disappeared into the distance.


	2. i'm tired of tending to this fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Zuko is stubborn and healing isn't linear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *announcer voice* LET'S GET READY TO TIME SKIP!!!!

The Fire Lord did _not_ look good. Hakoda was unable to focus much on trade routes and import taxes, instead he found himself staring at the deep circles under Zuko’s eyes and wondering how an almost eighteen year old boy could look so _old_.

It’d been a while since Hakoda had seen Zuko. After the war had ended, he’d returned home with his children (and the Avatar, because that was what his life was now). He’d traveled back and forth from the Fire Nation to the South Pole several times in the last year; there was so much to do between rebuilding their tribe on its own and rebuilding its relationship with, well, the world.

He, himself, had suffered several sleepless nights due to the sheer stress of his position. And he’d been Chief for years. And he was also an adult.

He couldn’t imagine the pressure the young Fire Lord was feeling, especially because the Fire Nation’s peace with the rest of the world was… tenuous, at best.

Zuko looked profoundly tired, and, Hakoda thought, a bit thinner than he was the last time he’d seen him. He kept pinching the bridge of his and taking deep breaths, like he was barely holding it together. His voice didn’t shake, however, as he reminded his council (for what had to be the third time in an hour) to respect the water tribe representatives.

Hakoda wondered if he should write to his daughter or to Iroh—either were very capable of bullying the teen into taking care of himself. But they would both be arriving later this week for Zuko’s birthday celebration, so he resolved instead just to keep a close eye on the boy until they arrived.

Maybe he would join Zuko for a meal, or he could try to convince him to take a break—

“Chief Hakoda? What do you say?”

Oh. Crap. He wasn’t listening.

“Uh.” He cleared his throat. Shot a glance at Bato that clearly said _Help me out, here!_ “We—”

“It sounds like we are heading in the right direction, Fire Lord Zuko,” Bato jumped in, smoothly. “Would you allow us some time to discuss these matters privately?”

Not for the first time, Hakoda thanked the Spirits for Bato.

“Of course. We can reconvene tomorrow morning, if that will be enough time?”

Hakoda and Bato both nodded. The rest of the committee took this as a signal that they were dismissed, and the room began to clear. Hakoda hung back, giving an indiscreet head jerk towards the Fire Lord when Bato sent him a questioning look.

* * *

Zuko had a headache, because of course he did. Headaches, he had learned, were apparently just a part of the job. Also: insomnia, assassination attempts, and heartburn. Seriously, why did he _always_ have heartburn?

After the meeting had ended he’d slumped forward, rubbing his temples to try and alleviate the headache, which is why he hadn’t noticed that someone was still in the room until he heard a soft (and obviously fake) cough.

“Chief Hakoda?” He questioned after snapping his head up. “I’m sorry… I thought everyone had left.”

He sat up straighter and tried to ignore his pounding head as the Chief walked closer to him and sat in the chair to his right.

“Is there something you need, Chief?”

“Just Hakoda is fine, Fire Lord Zuko.”

“Then just Zuko is fine, sir, uh—Hakoda.”

Hakoda smiled. But he was looking at Zuko with something in his eyes… apprehension? Suspicion? Zuko struggled to read people on a good day, but the exhaustion that was overwhelming him was making it more difficult than usual. Was Hakoda unhappy with how the meetings were proceeding? Zuko had spoken at length with Sokka, Katara, and Aang on how to respectfully repair relations with the Southern Water Tribe, and it seemed to make a lot of sense to include them in their trade routes; it was mutually beneficial and would hopefully help the Tribe with their rebuilding efforts, but perhaps Hakoda was not on board with this plan? Maybe Zuko had accidentally insulted him in some way, or disrespected their culture? He wracked his brain, trying to think of what he could have done wrong—

“Forgive me if this is not my place, Zuko, but I was wondering when the last time you got a good night’s sleep was?”

Zuko blanched. Was Hakoda… concerned? About him?

“I—what?”

“I know how large of a burden it is to lead, but to be honest, Zuko, you don’t look so good.” Hakoda smiled again, his eyes crinkled and kind. There was no judgment there, no expectation, and yet Zuko still felt his heart pick up in pace.

 _He thinks you’re weak,_ said that horrible small voice in his head that sometimes sounds way too much like his father. _Too weak to do your job. Poor, soft Zuko, can’t even handle a year on the throne._

He felt too vulnerable, too exposed. He hated how easily Hakoda had seen through the cracks, how quickly he’d figured Zuko out. If Hakoda could see it after spending one morning with him, he was sure the members of his council and court, whom he saw every day, had picked up on it as well. He already barely commanded any level of their respect—he couldn’t afford for them to think him weak and unfit for his duty.

“I’m fine,” he found himself saying curtly as he stood stiffly from the table. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make your stay here more comfortable.” He bowed swiftly and left the room, leaving Hakoda sitting at the table alone, dumbfounded.

* * *

Anju had worked as a servant in the palace since she was only sixteen—that was several years and two Fire Lords ago.

She had been there when Lady Ursa and Prince Ozai were married and when they had children. She had bit her tongue, with regret, when she saw the way the Prince treated his children, turned away when she saw him strike his son if he was not living up to his impossible expectations. Or if he simply made him angry.

She had watched Princess Azula chase her brother around the courtyard, both children giddy and giggling until they were not. She had seen how carefully and kindly Prince Lu Ten treated his young cousin, how he’d hold him after he’d tripped or sneak him sweets when no one was looking.

Anju had been there when Fire Lord Azulon passed away; when Lady Ursa disappeared; when Prince Iroh returned, consumed with grief.

She had watched Fire Lord Ozai ascend to the throne and grow each day in his cruelty.

She had witnessed the palace growing more somber and more silent. She saw the tension growing between the siblings; she watched a boy lose his smile.

She had been there to see the young prince wheeled out of the Agni Kai arena on a stretcher, his face bloody and burnt and his uncle trailing hurriedly behind. She had memorized the sickening stench of charred skin and melted hair and the nauseous fear that had grown in the pit of her stomach those nights before he was officially exiled when nobody thought Prince Zuko would make it.

She had watched the young prince return, only to leave again—a traitor, some had said—a savior, some others had desperately whispered.

And now, he was back. He was a boy who was both Fire Lord and still a child. And Anju would watch, still, as he pushed himself through exhaustion and fought with war profiteers and angered officials from other nations who hated him for simply existing, desperately working to fix 100 years of wounds caused by his own family.

She would suggest, gently, that he take breaks for meals, and would always find a way to hint that he needed to _rest_ every now and then. She would leave extra food in his chambers, and send other servants to offer him baths, hair combings—anything they could do to get him to slow down. He would refuse every time, not unkindly, but they would never stop trying.

* * *

It had been over a year and Zuko still found himself adjusting to life at the palace. As Fire Lord.

It was a very different place without his father, or Azula.

(Or Mother. But that was a loneliness he’d grown used to.) 

And while he did not miss—at all—the way the halls used to feel when he knew his sister or father could be right around the corner, he definitely just felt… _alone_.

He wished Uncle could visit more often.

He tried to remind himself that in less than a week, his friends and Uncle would be back at the palace, to celebrate his birthday. Zuko did _not_ want to have some stupid birthday party, but he would suffer through ten if it meant his friends were all back together in one place again.

He looked out the window of the carriage as it carried him through the center of town. It was midday and the square was bustling with activity—merchants and vendors lined the sides of the road, people hurried from storefront to storefront. He smiled when he saw a mother with two young children and arms filled with bags of groceries. He hoped, not for the first or even the hundredth time, that he was doing what was best for his people.

Zuko sighed when they reached the entrance of the hospital. He always dreaded seeing Azula, and could never decide whether that made him a horrible, selfish brother, or simply a sane human being.

This past year had certainly not been easy for his little sister. After his coronation, he’d been completely baffled as to what to do with her. It didn’t feel right keeping her locked in the same prison that held his father, not when Zuko knew, deep down, that Azula had been just as much a victim of Ozai as he had been.

But she also wasn’t innocent, not even close, and she absolutely wasn’t stable enough to be left alone.

Most of his friends seemed to want to keep her in jail, when he’d voiced his uncertainty to them. Even Aang seemed unconvinced that there was any other option. It was Uncle, as always, who’d offered up a solution.

So eventually, she had been brought here, to a hospital a mere thirty minutes from the palace that was equipped to keep her contained, and hopefully, to help her.

Zuko walked the halls to her room, wondering what kind of a state she’d be in this time. He tried to visit regularly, but he was very busy, and if he was being honest with himself, he often found excuses to avoid the complicated pain that every visit brought.

Sometimes when he looked at his sister, he saw the little girl who clung to his sleeve and begged him to sneak down to the kitchens with her.

And other times he saw a blast of lightning.

When he reached her room, he hesitated, taking a deep, centering breath and listening for any signs that pointed to her being in one of her more… volatile moods. There was no noise, however—only silence, and so he entered.

The room was white and bare and cold. Sterile, impersonal. Every time he came he wondered if he should bring some things from home to help decorate the room, make her more comfortable, but he worried that reminders of home could also set her off. She often spoke like their mother was in the room, and Zuko wasn’t sure how much of reality she was actually perceiving.

Today, Azula was lying on her bed, facing the wall. The many medications she was on—to keep her calm, subdued, unable to hurt herself or others—often made her numb and listless, sometimes nearly catatonic. These moods were almost worse than the anger or the dazed outbursts, Zuko thought.

He sat in the chair across from her bed and began talking, knowing he’d be ignored but hoping that somehow he was reaching her, and it was helping, even just a little bit.

He didn’t ever really tell her much—trivial anecdotes about his day, or sometimes stories that Uncle had told him. When she was in this kind of quiet stupor, she would never respond. They sat in silence for a while, Zuko wishing he could do more than just be there. He didn’t even know if she _knew_ he was there.

Eventually, he left, his heart feeling impossibly heavy and his head aching worse than before.

“Goodbye, Azula. I’ll be back again soon, okay?”

When he returned to the palace, he collapsed into his bed, not bothering to even change out of his robes.

* * *

_He was standing in an all too familiar room. He faced the large flag with the Fire Nation insignia on it, and felt the cool marble under his bare feet. He turned and saw the long stage before him, the pillars lining it. The stands were empty, and it was eerily quiet._

_He walked forward, suddenly realizing he didn’t know who he was facing. The stage seemed to stretch longer and longer as he walked and saw a small, dark figure at the other end. He walked closer and closer, straining to make out any detail from the shape in the shadows._

_After what seemed like ages, he finally reached the figure and realized, with a jolt, that it was Azula waiting for him on the Agni Kai stage._

_She looked so much younger than he remembered, and her face was void of the contempt and mania he’d grown accustomed to. Instead, she looked scared. Terrified. She was shaking, quivering, and kneeling before him. She was begging, pleading. Please, no, please, don’t, she said, over and over and over as Zuko approached and loomed over her, tall and menacing._

_He lifted her face with his right hand, cupping it as if to dry her tears._

_He lit his hand on fire instead._

Zuko woke up screaming.

He spent the rest of the night sitting at the pond in the courtyard, pretending he didn’t notice the sick feeling in his stomach and the way his hands shook as he ripped pieces of bread for the turtleducks. He ignored, too, the way that this spot by the pond felt too empty of his mother’s presence; and how his mind felt too full of his father’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so hard to write for some reason. and sorry it's such a downer. there is some fun on the way i promise! (but not too much fun.... it is a Zuko fic after all....) 
> 
> also, yes Anju is named after the chicken lady from legend of zelda. do i have an explanation? no. are all the other OC's in this story named after weird obscure zelda characters? yes, yes they are. 
> 
> chapter title is from "Leave The City" by twenty one pilots (ouch)
> 
> please comment and let me know what you think :) it's lonely out here in the void


	3. i'm coming apart at the seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko pushing away his loved ones because he has some misguided perception that he must do everything on his own??? it's more likely than you think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends. so sorry this update took so long! i'm back at work and things have been super busy. sidenote, if you're ever thinking about teaching preschool during a pandemic, might i suggest reconsidering?
> 
> this chapter is a bit longer than normal, at least, so.... enjoy!

Their discussions had turned, once again, to the tense subject of the colonies. It was a frustrating matter that seemed to have no solution. The Earth Kingdom wanted their territories back, a request to which Zuko had happily agreed. They also, however, wanted Zuko to officially recall anyone of Fire Nation descent and make them leave the colonies to return to the Fire Nation.

“General Purah,” Zuko said fighting the urge to grip his forehead in frustration. “As I’ve said before, I can’t displace thousands of people who have been living in the colonies their entire lives, and force them to immigrate back to the Fire Nation. Some of those colonies were established at the start of the war, and Fire Nation families have lived there for generations.”

General Purah leaned forward from her chair and locked eyes with Zuko. She was a stern, middle aged woman who tolerated no nonsense; often she reminded Zuko of a tiger-viper in the calculated, brusque way she spoke.

“Then what, Fire Lord, do you suggest we do with them? Grant them citizenship as if they weren’t invaders just a year ago? Or perhaps you believe the Fire Nation still lays claim to the colonies?”

Zuko exhaled, using all his control to not blow smoke out his nostrils as he did so. He had told General Purah probably ten times already that he did not have any problem relinquishing control of the colonies back to the Earth Kingdom, yet she kept bringing it up as if the Fire Nation was still actively making conquests. She almost seemed to enjoy prodding him, like she was playing with her food before making the killing blow.

“Perhaps the Fire Nation _should_ maintain control of the colonies, since you Earth Kingdom peasants seem incapable of figuring out what to do with them,” spat Mido, a minister who’d sat on Ozai’s war council and Azulon’s even before that. If Purah was a tiger-viper, Mido was a spider-scorpion, always looking to sting. Zuko knew the man was ruthless and nationalistic, but Mido had been careful to keep his behavior in line for the past year of Zuko’s rule; Zuko longed to remove him from the council, but until he had a legitimate reason to do so, he had to put up with him. It wouldn’t look good to clear the entire government simply because they’d previously supported Ozai, and Zuko knew his authority and respect within his nation were already fragile as it was.

“Minister,” said Zuko, tersely, gripping the table. “Do I need to remind you that General Purah and her delegates are our honored guests, and will be treated as such?”

“My apologies, Fire Lord Zuko.” The words were almost a sneer.

Zuko turned back to the general. “General Purah, the Fire Nation lays no claim to the colonies. They belong, rightfully, to the Earth Kingdom. I only ask that we consider our options regarding the Fire Nation citizens who still reside there, peacefully.”

General Purah’s eyes darkened. “Not everyone is as keen as you are, Fire Lord, to forgive the sins of the Fire Nation. And we will never forget, especially if our citizens are forced to live among _intruders_ who do not belong. Have you forgotten that the only reason your people live in the colonies is because the land was forcibly, violently stolen from the Earth Kingdom? You can talk about _peace_ and _harmony_ as much as you want—it does not erase the bloody stain your family has left on the world these past 100 years.”

The room sat in stunned silence for a moment. The tiger-viper had lunged, and she had struck, and she had drawn blood. Zuko could hear his heartbeat in his ears, could feel his breath starting to hitch. Her words hurt because they were true—Zuko could never erase the legacy of his family, try as he might. Up bubbled the familiar wash of guilt and shame, a life sentence assigned to him by birth, a burden he had no choice but to bear.

“Perhaps,” he replied in a smaller-than-he-would-have-liked voice. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps it may be more productive to resume our talks tomorrow morning. I can meet privately with my advisors to hopefully find a suitable solution to our problem.”

“Yes, I do think that would be best,” Purah said, barely hiding her smile as she rose from the table. Zuko stood to bow to her and her delegates as they left the room, followed by Mido and the other members of his council.

“You know,” Mido chided, pausing at the door, “no one ever dared to speak to your father like that.”

Anger rose quickly in Zuko.

“I am _not_ my father!” he shouted, hands aflame, chest heaving.

“That is for certain.” He gave a shallow bow, smirking slightly as he left.

His words were meant as an insult, but Zuko didn’t see how anyone could possibly expect him to _want_ to be like his father.

He extinguished his flaming hands, and tried to regain control of his breath. Zuko hadn’t bent in anger like that for a long time, and it scared him. He suddenly felt very dizzy, like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. He fell back into his chair, blood pounding behind his ears and spots appearing in his vision. _Get a grip_ , he told himself. _I am not Ozai. I will not be like him_.

 _He did have a point though. No one commanded respect in a room like Ozai had._ He gulped the air. Willed his heartbeat to slow. Tried to sooth the tingling sensation in his hands.

( _You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher--)_

 _That was fear, not respect,_ he reminded himself. _That is not who I will be._

His thoughts raced—from the colonies, to General Purah’s snide but truthful dissent, to Mido’s mockery. To the pain his nation was still causing around the world. To his mother’s back, fading as she walked away. To his father rotting in a cell. To Azula, trapped alone in a white room. To the nightmares that repeated relentlessly.

_How different am I from him, really?_

He put his head in his hands and dragged his hands through his hair, disrupting the top knot and the crown placed in front of it. He once again brought his attention to his breath. _Focus, Zuko,_ he could almost hear Uncle saying.

_Breathe._

It took several stubborn minutes for his body to calm down, but eventually he was able to take deeper breaths, and he no longer felt the incessant pounding of his own heart. He lifted his head from his hands, and looked up to see someone standing in the doorway of the council room.

“Forgive me, Lord Zuko,” Anju said with a bow. She looked at him for a moment, eyes appraising. He wondered what she saw. Anju had been at the palace for as long as he could remember, and was now the head of staff. She had been one of the few servants to offer him condolences when his mother had died—well actually disappeared, but they hadn’t known that then. She’d frequently appear, conveniently, to dry his tears and make him look presentable before his father could catch him crying. And now she always seemed to be around the corner, ready to offer tea or a meal. Zuko supposed he should be offended, or embarrassed, but really he just found it nice. She had kind eyes and a gentle smile, and reminded him in some ways of Uncle.

“It’s alright, Anju. Please come in.” He straightened up and tried to smooth his hair back into place.

“Thank you, Fire Lord. I just wanted to confirm the arrangements for this weekend, before your guests arrive this evening.”

“Of course.”

“And perhaps I could send for some tea, sir?”

“Yes, that would be nice, thank you, Anju.”

Zuko sighed. His friends would be here soon. Uncle would be here soon.

* * *

Aang closed his eyes and leaned into the soft wind. There was always something purely exhilarating about flying with Appa, and he never felt more content than when he was surrounded by his element. It blew around them, ruffling Katara’s hair and whipping gently against their clothes.

Air was life and breath and freedom.

Aang was excited about seeing Zuko—he hadn’t seen him in over a month, and it had been even longer since they had all been together. They had picked up everyone on the way, and it felt so natural, so normal for them all to be flying on Appa together.

The end of the war had stretched their group, their _family_ , across the globe—Zuko in the Fire Nation, leading and repairing and repenting—Toph to the Earth Kingdom, reuniting with her parents and attempting to reconcile—Suki on Kyoshi Island with her warriors—Sokka and Katara in the South Pole, finally home with their father and their tribe.

Aang bounced between them, transient—he was an Air _Nomad_ , wasn’t he? They all traveled, of course. Somehow, they’d all become integral parts of repairing the broken world. But they would all, eventually, retreat home.

It hurt, more than he cared to admit, that he did not have a home to return to like the rest of his friends.

Most recently, he and Katara had been traveling through the Earth Kingdom, visiting and helping refugees. Katara healed relentlessly, often refusing to stop even when she was weak with exhaustion. It was disturbing work; Aang would _never_ grow accustomed to the tragedy and suffering the war had inflicted upon the world. He hated seeing entire villages impoverished, whole towns destroyed in battle. He hated seeing how many children had grown up in only violence and fear. He hated how little they could do, how slow paced their efforts were. It broke his heart, over and over and over, to see the wounds of the world. The scope was too huge, and even though the war was over, Aang at times felt like he and his friends were fighting an unending, uphill battle.

He never said any of this, however—he was the Avatar. He belonged to the people. He belonged to the world, and he belonged to the delicate balance they were working to achieve. It was his duty to remain optimistic, his honor to be the hope for the world.

The burden was not his alone, Aang knew. And if he could have relieved any of his friends of their shared onus, he would have, but he knew that the world needed them all right now—children as they were.

Lost in thought, Aang hardly noticed how close they had gotten to the caldera that housed the Fire Nation Capital. It was late evening when Appa finally touched down in the gardens outside the palace. Zuko stood waiting for them, a grin growing on his face as his saw his friends approaching, and next to him were Chief Hakoda and Bato, also smiling.

“Zuko!”

Aang hopped off of Appa as they landed and immediately propelling himself, full-speed, at the Fire Lord, wrapping him in a tight hug. Sokka and Katara similarly barreled at their father.

“Hi, Aang,” Zuko said, smiling. Aang looked up at his friend, studying the dark circles under his eyes, as Toph pushed him aside and pulled Zuko into an aggressive hug. A pit formed in Aang’s stomach; Zuko was smiling, but he looked _exhausted_.

* * *

The Avatar and his friends had been kind enough to offer Iroh a ride from Ba Sing Se to the Fire Nation.

The moment he saw Zuko, Iroh knew something was off with him. It had been only two months since Zuko had last visited him in Ba Sing Se, but he appeared to have lost weight, his face slightly sallow and paler than usual. He was smiling, though, as his friends ran ahead and practically tackled him in embraces.

Iroh felt a familiar pang as he watched his nephew. It was the joy of seeing him loved and accepted by others. It was the pain of knowing the horrible burden laid upon his shoulders, the anxiety of having to leave him on his own. Politically, of course, it made sense—the world needed to see Zuko and Zuko alone as the new leader of the Fire Nation; he could not appear as but a puppet, a child commanded by his uncle. (His uncle, who happened to also be the Dragon of the West, a fact most of the world would simply never forget).

It did not make it any easier, though, knowing that his young nephew had to bear so much on his own. It did not ease Iroh’s conscience, knowing he was doing what was best for the world, when he looked at Zuko and saw the physical ramifications of this decision.

Iroh knew Zuko, and if there was one thing Zuko ever was, it was relentless. When Zuko believed he had to do something, when he felt _honor-bound_ to do something, he would stop at nothing to accomplish it. Iroh remembered the way Zuko had, only weeks after suffering a near fatal burn, stomped around their small ship and demanded that they begin their course for the Air Temples. He remembered his small frame, fragile from fever, swaying slightly but never falling. He remembered the dark circles under his eyes, the missed meals, the sheer, self-sacrificing determination.

It seemed, now, that Zuko had taken the same attitude towards repairing the war-stricken world.

Iroh cursed himself for not visiting sooner, for not pushing for more details in letters, for not ensuring the staff, at the very least, were looking after his nephew when he, himself, could not.

That would all be changing, he decided, politically prudent or not.

Iroh waded through the gaggle of children and pulled his nephew into a hug. There had been a time when Zuko had rejected Iroh’s affection. When he had glared, and insulted, and flinched. But slowly, Zuko had learned how to be himself again, and eventually he learned that he loved and needed affection and that _did not make him weak_ , like he had been taught, cruelly, over and over again. And then, Zuko had hugged once again like a child, limp and trusting and vulnerable. But not today. Today he did not fold into his uncle’s arms, but held himself, tense, like if he allowed himself one moment to be soft, he would completely unravel.

Iroh sighed, knowing he had his work cut out for him—Zuko had always been stubborn.

“Nephew,” he said, pulling out of the hug and smiling. “It is wonderful to see you again. I trust you have prepared a feast for us weary travelers?”

Zuko smirked in a way that was clearly to stop himself from rolling his eyes—he _was_ a teenager, after all, and Iroh did occasionally relish the opportunity to play the embarrassing parent role.

“Yeah, I’m starving!” Sokka called.

“Sokka,” Katara admonished, “you were eating jerky the whole way here. There is no way you are starving.”

A smile twitched on the edge of Zuko’s lips. “Of course—I had the chef prepare only the best.”

They followed Zuko through the palace and into one of the smaller banquet rooms where, as promised, the staff had prepared a truly impressive spread.

“Is that komodo-chicken?” Sokka exclaimed, excitedly jumping into an open chair and piling food onto his plate. The rest of the children followed suit, chattering enthusiastically as they began eating. It was truly remarkable to see them like this. After everything, they still knew how to be kids.

All except one, of course. Standing in the doorway was his nephew, an apologetic look on his face, his right arm reaching up to nervously grasp the back of his neck.

“Nephew?”

“I’m sorry—I can’t join you all tonight. I have a really important meeting in the morning, and I have to meet with some advisors tonight to prepare.” He gave a forlorn bow and quickly fled from the room.

“Zuko!” Several of his friends called after him, a mixture of confusion and exasperation in their tones. Iroh sighed to himself and took his seat at the table. Yes, he had his work cut out for him.

“Okay, what’s up with Sparky?” asked Toph, in between slurps of soup. “His heart rate is way high and he’s being even more cagey than usual.”

“We’ve been here a week and I don’t think I’ve seen the kid relax once,” said Bato.

“Should someone go talk to him?” Suki questioned.

“I tried to speak with him earlier this week, Iroh, but he shut me down pretty fast.” Chief Hakoda added, his voice full of concern.

Iroh sighed once again, bringing his hand up to rub his forehead. “Thank you for trying, Chief Hakoda. My nephew is very stubborn. I will speak with him tonight.”

“Zuko being stubborn? That’s unheard of!” Avatar Aang replied, his voice dripping with satire.

“You’re getting very good at sarcasm, Aang. I couldn’t be prouder,” announced Sokka.

The children laughed. It was a beautiful sound.

* * *

The meeting with his advisors had gone terribly, and Zuko had angrily marched back to his room, frustrated and anxious. He thrust open the doors and began tearing the crown out of his topknot, not caring, for once, if his behavior was unseemly or unbecoming of the Fire Lord. He was _mad._ Angrier than he could remember feeling in a while, and he was tired of shoving it down, swallowing his pride day after day as his own council belittled and humiliated him.

They had been unable to agree upon any kind of a solution for the colonies, and Zuko was supposed to present a plan to General Purah in the morning. He had nothing. No fix that would make everyone happy. No plan that wouldn’t involve either antagonizing the Earth Kingdom, or betraying his own people.

He threw himself into the chair at his desk and stared hopelessly at the piles of scrolls that littered it. He pulled one at random and began reading it, hoping that focusing on something else for a while may help him come up with something for General Purah. He was halfway through a crop yield report from an outlying village when a loud cough startled him so badly that he sprung up from the desk and into a defensive stance.

He relaxed immediately when he recognized the source of the sound. Sitting in one of the armchairs off to the side of the room was Uncle.

“Uncle? What are you—how long have you—you can’t just _sneak into my room like that!_ ” Zuko yelled, embarrassment and indignation sending a blush to his cheeks.

“I have been here the whole time, Zuko. I was waiting for you to finish your meeting. You didn’t notice me when you stormed in.”

“I was not _storming_!” He said, throwing himself back into the chair.

“Zuko.”

Uncle got up and walked towards the desk. He was using _that_ tone. The tone that made Zuko feel five years old again.

“Uncle,” said Zuko, turning his chin up and crossing his arms. He knew he was being difficult. He found that right now, he didn’t really care.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Zuko,” Uncle said again, this time softer, this time a plea. Zuko reluctantly met his eyes. Uncle was too good at seeing straight through Zuko, at picking him apart and putting him back together again.

Zuko leaned forward on the desk, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes and willing himself not to cry. He was tired of feeling so raw, so weak. Why couldn’t he hold it together for one damn day?

“I’m just—” He cut himself off. What could he even say? That he was failing miserably at being Fire Lord? That he hadn’t slept properly in months? That every time he closed his eyes he was afraid of what he would see? That he felt so horribly and utterly _alone?_

“I’m just _tired_ ,” he finally settled on saying, and it wasn’t a lie, but it also wasn’t entirely true. He lifted his head to meet Uncle’s eyes. Uncle stared at him for a moment, searching, and seeming to decide whether or not he was going to push Zuko to say more.

Uncle sighed.

“I am going to make some tea, and we are going to drink it, together. And then you are going to _sleep_.” 

Zuko did not bother to say that he _can’t_ , that he’s _tried_ , but from the look in Uncle’s eyes, it was clear he didn’t have to.

“A man needs his rest, Lord Zuko.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh zuko, you dumb baby. let people help you, okay?
> 
> as always, please please please let me know what you think in the comments. seriously, i need the validation.
> 
> also, i promise some Actual Events will happen in the next chapter. I actually had a lot more planned for this chapter, but then the AngstTM took over, and i decided to split it up. 
> 
> chapter title is from disloyal order of water buffaloes by fall out boy. because my emo baby zuko WOULD listen to fall out boy and you cannot convince me otherwise.


	4. it's my party and I'll cry if I want to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Aang tries his best, Zuko cannot communicate, and Sokka plans a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the part where I say sorry for this update being so late, but hope that it's worth it as this is the longest chapter yet?

Zuko did not sleep. He did try, because Uncle looked so worried and Zuko hated making him look like that.

But even Uncle’s tea and the reassurance that he was in the room right next to him did nothing to quiet Zuko’s racing thoughts, and after tossing and turning for a while, Zuko gave up and went outside.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so alone when his friends and Uncle were right around the corner. Maybe it was the palace.

As he walked from his rooms, the corridors were dark. He lit a small fire in his palm unnecessarily; his feet had tracked this path enough that he could walk it in pitch darkness. The fire cast dim dancing shadows against the stark reds and golds.

Zuko spent three years yearning for these halls. Maybe he had forgotten how oppressive they had felt. He’d realized, eventually, that he had been willing to forget a lot about life at the palace when he was banished. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been playing memories of his mother when he allowed himself to miss home. He hadn’t realized that he’d been missing a home that no longer existed.

And yes. He was Fire Lord now—he didn’t have to duck behind pillars to escape his sister; he didn’t have to been on constant alert for his father.

But it didn’t feel like home, and he still felt his father’s presence looming over him.

(Zuko now thought, often, of the greens and browns of his apartment in Ba Sing Se with Uncle. It was like he was doomed to always feel homesick.)

Winter was approaching; it was a cool night, but a stubborn humidity still hung in the air. Zuko thought, for a moment, about going and meditating by the turtle-duck pond, but he’d found that recently that place had only made him feel worse, and walked instead to another courtyard that was more wide open, and began running through katas.

Hints of new colors had begun to show in his orange fire. He had to concentrate very hard for them to appear, but he found when he was able to clear his mind enough, the tips of his flames were tinged with soft greens and purples and blues.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been, just that he had run through every set he knew at least twice, and his whole body ached with exhaustion. He collapsed on the grass, arms and legs splayed out, breathing heavily and hoping he’d maybe tired himself out enough to get a few hours of sleep. Though his heart was pounding, his eyes were growing heavy and his thoughts slowed as he considered how un-Fire-Lord-like it would be to pass out, right here in the courtyard, and if the staff would find it strange, maybe he could just close his eyes for a few minutes—

“Your fire looks amazing, Zuko!”

Zuko jumped up and sent a quick blast of fire in the direction of the intruder—who actually turned out to be Aang—who easily dodged Zuko’s erratic bending with a swift gust of air and a smile fading into a questioning look.

“Agni— _why does everyone keep sneaking up on me?_ ” Zuko snarled, throwing himself back down to the ground and covering his face with his arms.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“No, Aang, I’m sorry,” Zuko huffed, embarrassment bringing a heat to his cheeks. “I’m just a little… on edge… and I didn’t think anyone was up.”

Aang stood, shifting his weight from side to side, before eventually deciding to sit next to Zuko.

“I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Why not?” Zuko asked after a moment, sitting up and turning to look at Aang. He felt annoyed with him, or maybe just annoyed in general. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, but when did he ever get his way?

Aang sighed.

“Katara and I have been spending time in the Earth Kingdom and—I just—it’s still so bad. There’s refugees and so many villages are completely a mess. I don’t know if we can ever help them all. And lately whenever I close my eyes I just—I can’t stop seeing it all.”

He looked older than the last time Zuko had seen him, and a sharp pang ran through his heart at the realization. It wasn’t fair, any of it. Zuko softened, something dull aching in his chest. Aang was so _young_ , and Zuko had grown quite protective over him, and it hurt to see his friend losing some of his carefree nature. 

“I know it’s slow-going, Aang, but we’re making it right. We are.” Zuko tried his best to adopt a reassuring tone. He did not mention that he knew this same, overwhelming fear. That he, too, often wondered if he will ever be able to heal the wounds his people inflicted upon the world. The wounds _he,_ personally, had inflicted.

“There’s so much pain. Sometimes I feel like it’s going to swallow me up.”

Zuko could only nod.

“I know.” He did. There were no words of comfort to offer. He wasn’t Uncle, and he really wasn’t good at feelings or bright-sides or proverbs.

Aang turned to look at him. “So why are you up?” His brow furrowed in concern.

“Pretty much the same reason,” Zuko replied. _Except in my dreams, lately, I’m the one hurting people._

Aang didn’t respond immediately, so Zuko kept going.

“Also, I have this meeting tomorrow with an Earth Kingdom general who’s really upset about the colonies. And I don’t have a solution for her. None of my advisors are really willing to compromise.”

“What do you mean?”

“General Purah believes the colonies belong to the Earth Kingdom—which I agree. But she also isn’t willing to allow Fire Nation citizens to remain there, once the land falls under their rule again.”

Aang hummed. “What does Kuei think?”

Zuko sighed. “I haven’t dealt directly with King Kuei in months, only with individual generals and governors.”

“Oh,” Aang said, looking thoughtful. He was quiet for a moment. “Zuko… I hate to say it, but isn’t General Purah right?”

“How can you say that?”

“It’s just—I can understand. Where she’s coming from, I mean.”

“Oh.”

Because of course he could. No one had lost more than Aang. The guilt made Zuko’s skin crawl. But, he couldn’t just do that to his people, either.

“I don’t have anywhere to put all those people. They would become… refugees. And our economy’s unstable as it is already. How can I… be okay with condemning these people, essentially, to being homeless, jobless? There are families. Children. I can’t. I can’t betray my people like that.”

“Let me come to the meeting with you tomorrow. Maybe I can—”

“No.” Zuko almost shouted, a panic rising in him. If he couldn’t solve _one thing_ without running to the Avatar, what did that say about him as a leader? How would that look to his advisors who already didn’t respect him, to the leaders of the other nations who held nothing but contempt for him?

“Zuko, I can help—”

“I can’t just run to the Avatar every time there’s an issue. How would that look?” Zuko stood.

“Zuko—”

“No. I’ll handle it myself.” He started walking off, hearing Aang sigh in frustration behind him. “Goodnight.”

* * *

Zuko was running late to his meeting with General Purah. Like, really fucking late. He’d overslept, which _never_ happens, but when you stay up until almost dawn, it’s unlikely that you’ll rise with the sun.

(He had a sneaking suspicion his staff had been instructed not to wake him—the traitors.)

He rushed into the council room, ready with an apology and absolutely no real plan as to what he was going to tell General Purah, only to find it completely empty. Except for—

“Aang?”

He turned to face Zuko, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Zuko! Uh, don’t be mad—”

“Where is everyone?”

“I got here early, and well, you weren’t here yet, but General Purah was—”

“Where is she _now?_ ”

“Well—I was just planning to sit in on the meeting and try to help if things got… heated, but, um, well, since she was here, we ended up talking, and…”

“And?” Zuko demanded.

“She asked me my opinion. About the colonies. I was honest. But—I told her that if you disagreed, that you had good reason to. And that maybe we just all need a bit more time to figure out a solution that works for everyone.” Aang swallowed, still looking a bit guilty.

“And she agreed?” Zuko could feel the shock written on his face. A pit was forming in his stomach.

“Well. She didn’t seem too happy about it, but yes.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I think she… didn’t want to upset me. Um. She mentioned something about Kuei, and I guess she knows that he likes me…”

“Unbelievable.”

“You’re mad.”

“You went behind my back! I had this handled!” And, well, that part was a bit of a lie. But Zuko felt too betrayed and angry to care. He suddenly felt like a child—handled, subdued.

He stormed away before Aang could try to respond.

* * *

Aang could tell Zuko was angry with him, but he there hadn’t been an opportunity to explain before they were all once again gathered around the dinner table. Aang really hadn’t _meant_ to go behind Zuko’s back, but he could see how it looked bad, and the guilt was weighing heavily on him. Aang really _really_ didn’t like to fight with his friends; he was a “talk it out” kind of guy, but he wasn’t sure when Zuko would be in the mood to give him the chance.

Zuko joined them for dinner this time, though Aang had a suspicion that it had not been his first choice, but rather something he had been dragged to by Iroh.

“And they were going to wait until after _dessert_ to start playing music! What kind of party was this going to be?” Sokka exclaimed, gesticulating dramatically.

“I don’t want a big party!”

“Zuko, you’re turning eighteen! You should celebrate!” Katara said.

Zuko mumbled something under his breath that Aang couldn’t hear from his place across the table. He was picking at his food, clearly uninterested in the plate of fire noodles in front of him.

“Well, anyway—” Sokka continued. “I tracked down that lady, uh, Anja—"

“—Anju,” Zuko supplied, monotone.

“Anju, right, anyway, I tracked her down, and said, ‘Listen, we _have_ to talk about the _flow_ of this party. Party flow is essential!”

“And when did you become an expert in party planning, Sokka?” Suki teased, bumping her shoulder into his.

“I’m a well-traveled man, Suki—”

“Because we were going to _so_ many parties,” Katara ribbed.

“Well,” Sokka wrinkled his forehead in thought, “there was that one party in the Earth Kingdom—”

“Because _that_ went so well,” said Toph, “we were cornered by the Dai Li!”

“Well, uh, there was that time Aang threw a party in a Fire Nation cave!” Sokka wailed, his voice pitching higher with exasperation.

“You threw a _cave party_ in the Fire Nation?” Zuko asked, his incredulity finally pulling him out of his sulking.

“Actually, it was all Aang,” said Sokka.

“I _can’t_ believe I used to think you guys were all genius tacticians.”

“Yeah,” Aang jumped in, trying to joke, “you really weren’t so great at your whole ‘capture the Avatar’ job.”

Zuko’s face immediately darkened, a scowl forming as he cast his eyes back down to his plate. Aang deflated.

Katara cleared her throat after a few seconds of an awkward silence. “Well, Zuko, you might not love birthdays, but I think it’s going to be really nice!” Zuko huffed. “And I think we all deserve a little fun,” she added, tone gentle.

“Leave it to the Broody Lord to hate birthdays,” Sokka quipped.

“I don’t hate all birthdays! I just don’t like my birthday, okay?” Zuko said, clearly still irritated. “I don’t have many good memories of it and I don’t like making a big deal out of it. But everyone insisted and now it’s going to be this giant thing.” He threw his hands up in the air and then slumped further down his chair.

“Nephew,” added Iroh, who had been silent for most of the meal, “surely not all your birthdays have been so terrible.”

Zuko and his uncle exchanged a glance, something unspoken communicated between them.

Zuko sighed and sat up a bit straighter again. Zuko seemed so much older than Aang, at times, especially when he was dressed in his formal regalia and held himself with all the poise and confidence of royalty. Aang found himself forgetting, sometimes, that Zuko was still just a teenager, only a few years older than himself.

“I always loved Lu Ten’s parties,” Zuko offered quietly, a sad sort of smile forming on his face. “He’d always convince my mom to let me stay up way past my bedtime, and snuck me extra slices of cake. You’d think he wouldn’t want his little cousin hanging around all the time, but he did. He always did.”

Aang’s heart sank as he looked over to Iroh, whose face was now strained.

“Sorry, Uncle, I—”

“Zuko,” Iroh said, placing a hand over his nephew’s. “Please never apologize for reminding me of the kindness my son possessed. I am so grateful that you have happy memories of him… that he was able to be there for you.”

Aang found himself looking away—it felt, suddenly, like they were all intruding on a private moment. There was still much Zuko hadn’t shared of himself, and Aang didn’t fault him for it. It was no secret his childhood hadn’t been easy, and it just wasn’t like Zuko to talk openly about things like that. Aang wished he would, sometimes; none of them were strangers to pain, and they all tried their best to carry some of it for each other.

With Zuko so angry with him, that wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon, Aang thought.

He pushed his plate away, his appetite abruptly forgotten. 

* * *

When Zuko was a child, he had never been able to sleep the night before his birthday. He could still remember the way the anticipation would bubble in him and how it’d keep him awake hours into the night. His birthday had always been a special day. He never received quite the same fanfare as Lu Ten had as the Crown Prince, but he was still a prince, and his birthday was still treated as some kind of holiday.

He’d usually spend most of the day with his mother, who’d allow him to skip all his lessons and training, much to his father’s displeasure. Ozai had, behind closed doors, argued with her every year, but she had always been determined to make their birthdays something special. (And Zuko and Azula had already grown so accustomed to muffled shouting and slamming doors that it didn’t even occur to them to find it strange.)

They wouldn’t have a large party, but they would have a grand dinner; Zuko remembered his glee at being allowed to pick the menu, choosing all his favorite dishes and never being told to stop.

His mother would tuck him in at night, his belly still full with mochi and cake and juice. She’d hug him tightly, whispering how happy she was he’d been born, that he was hers. 

Zuko could not sleep the night before his eighteenth birthday, but it was not excitement, this time, that kept him up. 

He woke early and stared for a while in the mirror. The face that met him there was sometimes still unrecognizable, half of it twisted by the scar, the other a spitting image of his father. Especially now, with his hair growing longer, Zuko was beginning to resemble him more and more. (Though Zuko found himself unable to recall a time when his father sported such impressive eyebags).

Half of him bore his father’s mark and the other his features. The thought made Zuko’s stomach churn, his mother’s last words to him echoing somewhere in the back of his mind. He splashed cold water at his face and quickly fled from the washroom, unwilling to face himself any longer.

Zuko honestly did not know what to do with himself. It was just barely dawn, and he wasn’t allowed to work, according to his friends and Uncle. They had somehow colluded with his assistant, Paya, to make sure his schedule was completely clear.

Which was unfortunate, because Zuko wanted nothing more than to be distracted today.

His birthday was not a day he liked to think about too hard. He hadn’t really acknowledged it in years. When he was banished, he wouldn’t allow anyone to celebrate, though Uncle would always try. And last year, with the war just ended and a fragile peace achieved, a birthday had been the last thing on anyone’s minds. 

And before that, it had never been much of an event. His father had never cared about things like that.

No, it had been his mother who’d made his birthdays special.

And then she was gone.

And Zuko had grown to hate his birthday. 

Zuko found himself on his way to see Azula before he even fully realized what he was doing. He hadn’t wanted to hang around the palace and had, feeling restless, gotten into a carriage before it had hit him that he really had nowhere to go.

He _was_ trying to be better about seeing her, anyway.

Though Zuko resolutely tried not to dwell on his childhood, some semblance of compassion for Azula had begun to bloom in him. Growing up he’d always assumed that she had been spared of Ozai’s cruelty; he was only now realizing that she simply suffered a different kind.

So he wanted to help her, even if he hadn’t been able yet to forgive her. He didn’t know if he could really do either.

When Zuko entered the white room, he was shocked to find Azula sitting up on her bed, facing him. Their gold eyes locked, but she remained expressionless.

“Azula?”

The doctors had told him they weren’t sure how much of reality she was perceiving, but the recognition was clear in her eyes.

“Azula?” he pressed.

She continued to stare at him, her gaze more calculating and more _Azula_ than it had been in over a year.

They were frozen like that for a while, until Azula abruptly rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and turned around to face the wall.

“Azula?” Zuko found himself asking once again, this time completely dumbstruck. He wanted to laugh—out of relief or just at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. He never thought he’d be so happy to be ignored by his sister.

She faced the wall for the rest of his visit, but Zuko left feeling the most hopeful he had in months.

* * *

Katara had to give Sokka some credit—the party had turned out to be very nice. Maybe in another life he could’ve had a career in event planning.

They were in a huge, garish hall, everything gold and red and obstinately _royal_. The sheer scale of it all had almost taken her breath away when she’d first entered the room, and she’d quickly shoved down the wave of bitterness that threatened to consume her whenever she was faced with the grandeur of the Fire Nation. It was the same feeling she got whenever she thought a little too hard about their sister tribe in the North—the way their own igloos and tents dwarfed in comparison to the impressive structures that populated the Northern Tribe. No, tonight really was not the night.

Tonight was a _celebration_ , and she would be damned if she didn’t allow herself to enjoy something for once. Their work in the Earth Kingdom had been taxing for both her and Aang; they were all exhausted in so many ways and it really was time for a break.

Katara fought back a yawn. The party had stretched well into the night, most of the attendees’ eyes now glazed over from plum wine and sake. The music had long since shifted from upbeat, jovial tunes to more lazy, quiet melodies—though there were still some stragglers clinging to the dance floor.

She stood off to the side, resting against a wall, her feet sore from dancing.

Her eyes scanned the room. To her left she saw Sokka engrossed in conversation with Suki, Toph, and some Earth Kingdom noble she didn’t recognize, his eyes wide and passionate, arms flailing wildly as he spoke. Across the room at a table sat Aang, her father and Bato, Iroh, Zuko, and some other world leaders. She smiled, seeing her father relaxed into Bato’s side, his arm slung around him. Aang’s eyes were bright, his smile wide, and Zuko even looked to be having a good time despite himself, as he listened to Iroh talking.

Katara felt a lump form in her throat. It was overwhelming, sometimes, to see everyone together, so content, so _familial_. There was still so much work to be done, but for now she allowed herself to relax into the feeling.

She began walking over towards the group at the table, hoping to save Aang from suffering too many of her father’s jokes, dodging dancing nobility as she did.

She was halfway to the table when suddenly she heard a loud crack of stone. The whole room shook, and the party froze, everyone nervously looking for the source of the sound.

And then the ceiling caved in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consider this my formal apology for the cliffhanger.

**Author's Note:**

> and we're off! I am so excited to be writing this! 
> 
> some quick notes:  
> \- this fic is completely gen, so no ships--I really wanted more to focus on the friendships and on Zuko's familial relationships  
> \- I am ignoring the events of the comics, except for some key factors from "The Search"  
> \- this will be mainly Zuko's POV but will switch a bit between other characters too
> 
> the title of the work is from Howl's Moving Castle, and the chapter title is from Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier.
> 
> please let me know what you think in the comments! or at my [tumblr](https://beachytablecloth.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> thank you for reading!!!


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